


Harrowing Hors d’oeuvres

by JazzRaft



Series: Festive Food Fluffs [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Established Relationship, Fluff, Food, Halloween Costumes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 10:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12579816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: Noctis invites Nyx to a costumed banquet. The only thing scarier than the masks is the company.





	Harrowing Hors d’oeuvres

Nyx was starting to think that the royal event planner – or whoever it was in charge of sending out invitations – didn’t know the meaning of the words “close friends and family.”

The dining hall was filled with masked faces and elaborate costumes, milling between tables decorated in undead extravagance. Gowns were encrusted with enough jewels to fund the entire reconstruction effort in Galahd – he was very grateful that he didn’t extend the invitation to any of his friends when Noct left the choice up to him. Elegant interpretations of otherwise monstrous features were carved into the painted masks upon each face. Shimmering gold Ifrit horns, curved ivory behemoth fangs, dark velvet tonberry hoods, and plumes of black silk chocobo feathers. The ridged skins of the serpents deep in Duscae were imitated in crushed leather on the lapels of expensive suits. Silver buttons and cufflinks were carved into the skull crest of the royal family.

It was a lot of glinting monochrome and deep, muted colors. The room was filled with elegant phantoms, sipping dark red wines from crystal goblets. Nyx immediately felt like a trespasser, nearly back-pedaling right out of the room if he wasn’t anchored to Noct’s arm.

“Believe it or not, this is what we consider a _small_ gathering.”

The deprecating humor was an effort to get him to laugh, he knew, but his nerves were stuck in his throat. His fingers clutched so tightly into Noct’s arm that they were hurting him more than they were hurting the prince. Noctis handled Nyx’s terror much more gracefully than Nyx himself did, soothing gloved fingers over his white knuckles.

“The refreshment table helps,” he told him in an informant’s whisper.

Like the scampering Astral his gilded mask was fashioned after, Noctis spirited him off to the bar. Nyx hadn’t even remotely believed him when he said that no one would recognize them in the masks. They only concealed half of a face, and given the trend of distinctive hairstyling in the city, he was sure that they would be easily identified. But true to his word, the prince wasn’t granted a glance as he guided Nyx through the crowd. There were no cries of disgust upon recognizing a lowborn, immigrant glaive wound around the arm of the heir to Lucis. No vapid smiles as pearly white as the gemstones on their masks. Nevertheless, Nyx clung close to Noct’s side, positive that something about him would alert the mannequin glamor of the room to the fact that he was _different._

“Here.” Noctis handed him a stout glass carved in the shape of a skull, full of a red-black cocktail and garnished with a dying flower. Nyx looked at him like he just handed him the goblet of a poisoned king. “It’s just a little spooked up Negroni,” Noctis assured him. “It’ll take the edge off.”

“You’re giving the former bartender drinking advice?”

“You’re not a bartender tonight. And you’re in my house this time.”

Noctis touched the frosted glass of his cocktail to Nyx’s and encouraged him to drink. He definitely wasn’t a bartender tonight. He wasn’t even a knight. And he definitely didn’t feel like the powerful prowler he was dressed up to be. The black suit was printed in the style of a coeurl pelt, accents of dark fur cushioned along the lapels and unfurling from the ends of the jacket. The silver fastenings were fashioned into tiny fangs and the black mask held aloft the deadly whiskers of the beast, curving back along the braids of his hair.

Noctis had arranged for the attire, discreetly adapting Nyx’s preferences and measurements for his designer. If anything, Nyx was more terrified of spilling something on the clothes and being in debt until he died more than he was afraid of the social vampires hunting around them. But damnit if he didn’t need that drink. He took an experimental sip, then chased it down with a generous gulp.

“Thank the Six your house knows how to mix a good drink.”

“Ignis had all the input. You can tell him how much you love his cooking when we sit down for dinner.”

“Ah, the true test of terror.”

Noctis slanted a smile up at him from behind the skull glass, eyes paled to a devious glint beneath the wily silver mask. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything?”

“Who’s been telling lies about me?”

“You have.”

“Oh? Then I was probably lying my ass off to impress you.”

He took another drink, letting the sweetness of it burn down his throat to tear apart the lump of anxiety gathered there. Noct’s devilish smirk turned sympathetic, more like the Astral his costume was fashioned after. A soft, downy-gray suit, simply cut with very few frills and furs. The buttons and cufflinks were little drips of ruby after Carbuncle’s tiny horn. The mask was carved after the likeness of the little fox’s face.

“You’ll be fine. It’s just a little mingling, lots of eating, some dancing, and maybe we can sneak out early to throw toilet paper over Drautos’ office.”

“Careful with your promises. I just might hold you to them.”

The cocktail helped, or it was just Noct’s easy grace throughout the evening that comforted him. He could focus on the prince better than he could focus on anything else, even his own nerves. Noctis loved the anonymity of the masks, and Nyx was still stunned stupid over how the hell they worked. But they talked to plenty of people that were either extremely good actors, or didn’t have a clue who they were. And the food, while rich and decadent and soaked in Lucian extravagance, was a delicious distraction. There were bite-sized tarts of fig jam and goat cheese, tiny orange peppers stuffed with an herby, cheesy mixture, crudité platters that looked more like an art piece than finger food – and tasted like something off the gods’ dinner table. And that wasn’t even _dinner._

Later in the evening, they sat down at one of the tables, decked in black silk cloth and spider web runners and bone-white candelabras. And as he’d suspected when they walked in, it was easy to tell who their dining companions were behind their masks. There was Prompto in his golden plumage, looking about the same as Nyx felt in the expensive suit of satin feathers. There was Gladiolus in dark reds and blacks, the ebony horns of his behemoth mask crushed with burgundy silk, matched by his little sister in a checkered, harlequin skirt. Ignis was dressed more plainly, a simple black tailcoat, white gloves and scarf, the picture of Lucian aristocracy.

There was Cor and Clarus at either arm of the King at the center of the table, distinguishable by their crossed arms and protective scowls if not by the Crownsguard suits of silver tassels and badges reserved for the more grandiose ceremonies of the kingdom. And the King himself was resplendent in black and gold, enameled mask coiled into the helm of one of the ancient kings. To say Nyx felt out of his league was to liken a cockatrice to a chocobo.

But Noctis held his hand steady beneath the table, reminding him that he was among friends and that they were well past the interrogation phase destined to intrude upon their romance. Iris, with all the tenacity of a fifteen-year-old that could only be appeased by knowing her childhood crush was in safe hands, had done a thorough background check to assure her that Nyx was “right” for Noctis. She was much like her brother in that way… And her father. Nyx was still recovering from that week.

Cor was the uncle that took him aside into a dark corner and said everything in absolutely nothing. He had a really sharp sword and he wasn’t afraid to use it should Nyx fail to uphold Noct’s happiness. Ignis had always been a contentious presence at Noct’s side, but easy to endear himself to if only he challenged the man instead of shied away from him. And Prompto was Prompto, excited about everything and welcoming Nyx first to cushion the concussive barrage of detective work done on him later.

He’d survived Regis, too. Mostly.

“You all seem to be enjoying yourselves this evening,” Regis said from the head of the table.

“Yeah!” Prompto chirped up from the other side of Noctis. “Great party, Your Majesty.”

“Get any good shots?” Noctis asked him.

The conversation turned to talk of photography until the round of appetizers was served by the ghostly staff, blending from the dim, candle-lit lighting of the hall. It was very dinner theater, not that Nyx had ever been to one. Ignis provided simple commentary for each dish, sampling each far more critically than the salivating group surrounding him on all sides.

There was arapaima roe canape – which Noctis helpfully translated as “bread with stuff on it.” A harvest galette was served, made with sheep’s milk and the autumn oranges that burst from the trees of Duscae. There was a salad of roasted squash, caramelized figs, and a tangy cheese that Nyx didn’t remember having since his childhood neighbor from across the sea said hello to the neighborhood with a frittata.

A massive flank of smoked behemoth was the star of the feast, marinated in cider and sage and a slew of other secret spices Ignis was keen on keeping secret. There was sweet potato gnocchi which Nyx knew Libertus would die for, stuffed artichokes, and a roasted beat quiche, and Nyx was almost grateful for his stress because it gave him a bigger appetite to fit everything into his stomach. It would take a couple hundred extra sit-ups to work off all the cheese, but right now, he wasn’t complaining.

“Glad you have an appetite, Ulric,” Gladiolus teased, dabbing bright red beat juice from his lips like a courtly cannibal. “Pretty sure Iggy would have chased you off if you didn’t.”

“That’s not the only reason,” Nyx chuckled.

“If Noct’s diet hasn’t scared him off, there’s little else I could do to accomplish it.”

“Noct says that you do a little bit of cooking yourself,” Iris chimed in, perpetually curious about any of his virtuous qualities.

“Nothing like this.” He nodded down at the tender slice of meet that fell away from his knife like a cascading deck of cards. “Mostly one-pots and casseroles.”

“It’s good,” Noctis says, pulling strings of cheese from the artichoke leaves. “Spicy.”

“Perhaps you could indulge us some evening.” The King’s voice slips between the candles like a coastal breeze, firm and smooth. “Join us for a family dinner. One where we can leave the masks at home.”

It takes Nyx a moment to calculate his own worth against the esteemed blood surrounding him, only realizing they were expecting some form of a response when Noct’s knee touches his. “I don’t know if…” Noctis gives his leg a light kick to redirect his answer. “Sure! Yeah. Food. I could do that.”

Dessert arrives to distract them again – apples dipped in glossy black “venom,” chocolate-blackberry cake, and hot coffee spiked with whiskey. Lucians definitely seemed to enjoy their liquor. Noctis stole him out onto the floor when they were done and the costumed band of musical imps in the corner started playing more languid, moody music.

“I’ll end up poisoning them,” Nyx lamented, following Noct’s lead to turn in long, lazy circles amidst the other glittering costumes. “I can’t cook! I can throw shit on the grill and it doesn’t end up on fire, but that’s about it.”

“You’ve cooked for me before and it was delicious. Iggy would tell you that’s very high praise.”

“You’re biased. You have to say you like it or you don’t get kissed.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Noctis looks up at him with all the doe-eyed innocence of the childhood protector he’s masquerading as. “I thought you’d be honored. You just got invited to family dinner by dad himself. And didn’t get a single dissenter out of it. I think that means they like you, Nyx.”

“We’ll see how much they like me when I burn out their tongues with chile flakes.”

Noctis smiled because he knew it comforted Nyx. And because he knew his family better than Nyx did, knew that they wanted him there, culinary skills notwithstanding. It was a sobering thought, cutting through the whiskey coffee in his veins as he cast a glance around at their friends in disguise. Iris waved at them from where she was waltzing with her father. Clarus didn’t outright glare at him. He even got a curt nod from Cor beside the demure grin of his masked king. Prompto stole pictures of Nyx and Noct dancing, and the prince’s two appointed guardians lifted glasses in greeting when they were glanced upon.

Underneath the masks, concealed from the diamond-encrusted world of luxury around them, the warm regard was more homely. More like family.

“Yeah, they’re not so bad,” he admitted with a small smile.

“Good answer. And as your reward, I think I promised you some harmless vandalism.”


End file.
